


Don't Leave Me Alone in this World

by pepsicokes



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Real Madrid CF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2071089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepsicokes/pseuds/pepsicokes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With his future in Madrid up in the air, Iker weighs out his career options and the opportunity cost that comes with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breaking News

**Author's Note:**

> First of three chapters. The rumors on Iker transferring has died down so this is more of an AU type of story.

While nothing has been set in stone yet, rumors are abuzz in the Spanish capital about a big transfer from Real Madrid… and this could be the biggest transfer yet. Iker Casillas, Madrid’s most faithful son, has been linked with a move to Arsenal. It was news that no one would expect to hear in a million years as Iker has been with Real Madrid since his childhood days. He has served the senior team fervently as its goalkeeper since 1999, longer than anyone has in the current squad.

However, Real Madrid President Florentino Perez doesn’t seem to think much of club loyalty. Iker was just another _galactico_ that he can replace in a whim. Carlos Ancelotti didn’t seem to have faith in the keeper either, opting to have Diego Lopez guard the posts for most of the season. Many analysts have commented on Iker’s dwindling performance in recent years, how he was unable to save some easy goals, and his performance at the 2014 World Cup was widely considered a final nail to his career’s coffin.

Despite the criticism Iker faced from the press and from the higher-ups, he still had teammates that valued his presence in the club and still believed he was the greatest goalkeeper of his generation. The biggest believer of them all was his co-captain, Sergio Ramos. He idolized Iker and he couldn’t imagine life in Madrid without him. They were almost inseparable, on the pitch and off it.

When asked about the rumors surrounding Iker, Sergio would always respond with that big toothy grin of his. “Iker would never leave,” he would tell them confidently. “The Bernabeu is his home and Real Madrid is his family.”

How it would break Sergio’s heart if Iker left Madrid. This was precisely the problem Iker had to face. Before he could even leave the club, he had to make sure his co-captain was going to be mentally, spiritually, psychologically, and emotionally prepared to take on the big responsibility of being the club’s sole _capitano_.

Iker ran many hypothetical situations through his mind as he drove himself on the way to Sergio’s house. He had informed Sergio of his visit that night ahead of time and Sergio didn’t ask why. He never did. He always looked forward to Iker’s visits, regardless of their purpose. Looking to hide a dead body? Sergio wouldn’t ask. He would accompany Iker to a river and help in letting that body sleep with the fishes.

Iker pulled up at Sergio’s driveway and allowed himself in with a spare key. He and Sergio had spare keys made for each other’s houses at Sergio’s suggestion. (“What if one of us gets our house broken into and the police aren’t fast enough?”) He slammed the door shut and walked through Sergio’s living room, looking around for his co-captain.

“Nene?” Iker called out, loud enough hopefully to be heard around the house. “Nene, are you here?”

“I’m in the bathtub!”

There was a pregnant pause after Sergio informed Iker of his whereabouts. Iker didn’t really know what to say. He came here, looking to divulge a serious matter with Sergio.

“When are you going to finish?” Iker replied.

“Maybe if you joined me here, I would finish faster!”

Iker shook his head in disbelief. “Nene, I really need to talk to you,” he said sternly. “I’m just going to wait here on the sofa until you finish, okay?”

“It’s a bubble bath!” Sergio responded. “This might take a while!”

Iker let out of an exasperated huff. He was not in the mood for this. He marched up to where Sergio’s bathroom was and opened the door. Sergio wasn’t lying. He really was having a bubble bath in his tub. He caught Sergio cupping foam into his hands and blowing it away with a childlike innocence. Sergio finally turned his head to where Iker was standing.

“I knew you couldn’t resist!” he said with a smirk.

The keeper sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the door pane, unimpressed with Sergio’s childishness. He was getting impatient and he was usually very tolerant of people, especially Sergio. When Sergio saw that Iker had no intention of joining him in the tub, his lips formed a frown and then it turned into a pout.

“You didn’t really want to join me, did you?” he asked in a defeated tone.

Iker didn’t have to shake his head to let Sergio know what his response was. Sergio sighed and raised himself out of the tub and stepped on to the bathroom floor. Before he could grab his towel, Iker had already beaten him to the punch. The keeper quickly and thoroughly rubbed Sergio’s body dry with a towel and wrapped it around his waist for him. Iker looked up at Sergio and lightly patted him on the cheek.

“Come on, Nene. Let’s talk in your room,” he said to the defender before turning to leave the bathroom. Sergio followed him immediately and walked ahead of him to get to his bedroom first.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?” asked Sergio who decided to keep the conversation going by multi-tasking. He dropped his towel to the floor and went to dress himself up in his closet. Iker, to avoid tempting himself upon the sight of Sergio’s naked body, decided to stand in front of the window and look out at the night sky.

“I want you to answer me seriously,” Iker said, hands placed in his pockets. “Do you think you’re ready to wear the captain’s armband?”

“Aren’t I already captain?” Sergio replied with a small laugh. He stepped out of the closet after throwing on a white shirt and a pair of boxer shorts. Iker looked over his shoulder and was relieved to see Sergio fully-clothed now. He turned back around to address Sergio’s concern.

“I didn’t mean in that way,” he said, waving his hand in the air and sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I mean, as the sole captain of the team.”

Sergio had a strong feeling over what Iker meant. “Well, I’m not as good as you are but I think I can manage,” Sergio replied, walking over to where Iker was and plopping himself beside him. “Why? Feel like retiring now, old man?”

He started poking at Iker’s sides playfully. When Iker wasn’t responding the way he expected to, Sergio frowned again. More than frown, actually. There was worry and confusion in his face. His stomach started to sink.

“Iker,” Sergio called him softly, placing a hand on the older man’s thigh. “What’s going on?”

The captain tried to find the right words to say. He asked himself how he could possibly soften the blow. Maybe it isn’t what he should say but _how_ he should say it. He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and placed his own hand on Sergio’s. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and decided not to delay it any further.

“I’m going to England.”

The news was met with silence. Sergio was in disbelief, his mouth agape. Iker felt that he was taking this news hard. There was really no way he couldn’t. Iker meant the world to Sergio and now he feels like his world has become shrouded in darkness.

“Nene, please listen--”

Sergio pulled his hand away from Iker’s thigh and ran his fingers through his own hair before burying his face into his hands.

“Nene, it’s not an official transfer yet,” Iker tried to reason with him. “I’m just going to meet with Arsene, see what can be done with me--”

“How could you do this to me?” Sergio interrupted him. He lifted his face from his hands and turned to Iker. “After everything I’ve said about you, after telling the press that you were never going to leave us… How could you make a fool out of me?”

Iker scrambled for Sergio’s hands, squeezing them gently and continuing to plead with his co-captain. “Nene, please don’t tell anyone about this. Not the bosses. Not Marcelo. Not Pepe. Not Cris. Anyone. If they ask, tell them I’m going on a short break. Or I’m going to visit Besugo. Don’t tell anyone that I’m going to have a meeting with Arsene Wenger.”

Sergio pulled his hands away from Iker again and crossed his arms over his chest in a huff. In one last attempt to console Sergio, Iker rubbed the back of his neck and planted soft kisses near the younger man’s ear.

“Please, Nene,” he whispered, nuzzling his head against Sergio’s. His heart was broken in half when Sergio uncharacteristically pulled away from him, refusing to be touched this way by his soon-to-be former co-captain.

“I think you should leave,” Sergio said lifelessly.

Iker was confused. “You think I should leave Madrid?”

Sergio shook his head solemnly. “No,” he added. “Just fucking leave. I don’t want to talk anymore.”

There was no use fighting. Sergio seems to have made up his mind. With a defeated sigh, Iker pushed himself off the bed and left the house without a word. Meanwhile, Sergio was stunned and dumbfounded. He stayed in the same position on the bed, not moving an inch after their confrontation. Sergio could feel his whole world crashing down around him. Even when Mesut left, it was okay because at least, he still had Iker. Iker, who was always there for him. Iker, who guided him and molded him to become the captain he is today. Iker, who calmed him down when things got too heated on the pitch. Iker, his life’s constant… or so he thought.

_Why do they always leave?_ , he thought to himself. _Why do they always leave me?_

 


	2. A Spanish Goalkeeper in London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iker's meeting with Arsene wasn’t until the day after so he had time to settle his old self into the English capital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the feedback on the first chapter! Enjoy the second one. :) Very dialogue-intensive, this one.

Iker felt like a stranger in a strange land. It wasn’t the first time he had step foot in London but he was still out of his comfort zone. He didn’t have the company of his Spanish-speaking teammates. It was just him. A Spanish goalkeeper in London. His meeting with Arsene wasn’t until the day after so Iker had time to settle his old self into the English capital. Luckily for him, there was one person that tried to make him feel at home as much as possible. Mesut Ozil had been waiting at the airport for the arrival of his former teammate.

“ _Capitano!_ ” Mesut exclaimed as he threw his arms around Iker’s neck like an excited child which sparked a warm glow in Iker’s heart. As simple as it was, it meant a lot to Iker to hear it from this quiet German boy who avoided speaking Spanish as much as possible during his stay in Madrid.

“Once a _blanco_ , always a _blanco_ , eh, _besugo_?” Iker commented, gently squeezing Mesut’s body in return during their embrace.

“To think, I actually miss being called that name,” Mesut said with a chuckle, pulling away and shyly scratching the back of his neck.

“Did Wenger tell you to meet me here?” Iker inquired.

Mesut shook his head and replied, “I wanted to see you myself.”

Iker had already explained to Mesut the situation with Real Madrid. He knew he could trust the shy and private Mesut Ozil not to spill anything to the press. After loading his bag into the trunk, Iker positioned himself on the passenger’s seat of Mesut’s car. As Mesut drove along, Iker took in the sights of London as they passed by, even catching a glimpse of the Emirates Stadium. It was an overwhelming experience for him. He toyed with the idea of calling this place his future home.

“How is my bro, Sergio?” Mesut asked as soon as the pair arrived at the German international’s apartment. He went straight to the kitchen and started preparing coffee for the both of them.

Recalling the bitter way their meeting ended, Iker tried to hide his sadness from Mesut. He managed to produce a small smile and replied softly, “He’s doing well.”

“That’s good,” Mesut replied. He arrived to the living room with the two cups of coffee and laid it on the table in front of Iker. “I really appreciated what he did for me back then. Standing up to _El Mister_ , wearing my jersey under his, dedicating his goal to me... Even with Sami around, he was the best friend I ever had in Madrid.”

Wanting to avoid the sensitive subject of Sergio, Iker decided to compliment Mesut on his Spanish-speaking skills. “Your _Castellano_ is getting better,” he said.

Mesut smiled and waved his hand limply in the air. “I had practice with Santi and Mikel,” he said, mentioning two of his Spanish Arsenal teammates.

“You should talk to me in English so I can get used to it,” Iker suggested, slapping Mesut lightly with the back of his fingers. Mesut simply smiled and shook his head.

“No, I want to make you feel like you’re still home,” he replied. “Just like having you here makes me feel like I’m still home.”

Iker raised a curious eyebrow. “You still think Madrid is your home?”

“My home away from home,” Mesut corrected him. “Germany will always be my home but Madrid... Madrid was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.”

He leaned his head back, resting his neck on the sofa and looking up at the ceiling. He looked back at all the good times he shared with Real Madrid. All the laughs, all the congratulatory pats on the back, all the tears, all the fights and frustrations... He could have retired in a Real Madrid jersey if he really wanted to. Mesut’s nostalgic trip got Iker to thinking about his memories with _Los Blancos_ as well. If Mesut only had three years worth of memories, Iker had almost a lifetime’s worth. He started asking himself if he was ready to let go of all of that.

Mesut cocked his head towards the wall clock and suddenly jumped in his seat. “Oh! I forgot, I have to meet with Per and Poldi,” said Mesut, frantically fumbling around for his car keys which Iker kindly handed to him. “We have this dinner with the rest of the team... Would you like to join us?”

Iker held a hand up to decline. “No thank you, _besugo_. It’s an Arsenal thing and I don’t really want to jump to conclusions or anything.”

“Will you be alright here, then?” Mesut asked, with his hand already on the doorknob.

Iker looked around the room, searching for something. He turned to Mesut and asked, “Do you have a phone around here? Can it call long-distance?”

“Yes, it’s in the bedroom,” said Mesut. He had a mischievous grin on his face and giggled to himself. “Are you planning to call Sergio?”

_Ouch. Again._

Iker chuckled, masking his emotions once more. “Have fun with your teammates, _besugo,_ ” he said; waving Mesut off before the German finally closed the door behind him. Iker now had Mesut’s apartment all to himself. He looked at the wall clock to check the time and started calculating something with his fingers. He let out a sigh and searched for the telephone in Mesut’s bedroom. He plopped himself on the edge of Mesut’s bed and tucked the receiver in between his head and shoulder. He found a note saved on his phone from years ago which read, _“new number. call me when you can. -9 hours.”_

Iker took a deep breath before punching the numbers into Mesut’s phone. He grew increasingly nervous with every ring until he finally heard a clicking sound.

“Hello?” a hoarse-sounding voice answered on the other line.

“David?” Iker inquired after a short pause. It was followed by another short pause.

“Iker?” David replied, and Iker let out a sigh of relief.

“I was worried you moved and changed your number,” Iker said. If only David could see the big smile that formed on Iker’s face.

“No, still here in L.A. with Victoria,” David replied. He too wished Iker could see the smile on _his_ face.

“Is she there with you right now?” Iker asked, biting his nail. Admittedly, he was a little intimidated by Victoria. They only met a few times during David’s stay in Madrid and he didn’t really get on with her that well.

“No, she’s out shopping,” David answered. “It’s just me and the boys here right now.”

“Am I interrupting anything?”

“No, actually... I was actually going to ask why you called. It’s been a while since I heard from you,” David replied. He made himself comfortable and took the cordless phone with him to his own bedroom to get a little more privacy in his conversation with “an old friend.”

“How’s Madrid?” he asked, closing the door behind him and settling on his bed.

“I’m not in Madrid right now, actually,” Iker replied, looking out at the bedroom window and seeing the view of northern London. “I’m in England,” he continued. “London.”

“England?” David repeated, amused with this development. “You know you can’t find me there.”He let out a chuckle and was genuinely curious about what Iker was doing in his home country.

“I’m meeting with Arsene Wenger tomorrow,” Iker answered, knowing just what David was about to ask him.

“Wenger,” David repeated again. “You’re thinking of transferring?”

“David, please don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” David replied. “But... Wenger. You’re thinking of going to Arsenal?”

Iker shrugged his shoulders. “Yes... I don’t know... Maybe,” he replied, twirling the cord of the telephone around his finger. He could hear David laughing on the other line.

“Why not United?” David replied, promoting his own past club.

Iker rolled his eyes. “You could be a little more supportive.”

“But United’s a good club, too.”

“I don’t know anyone there.”

“You know De Gea.”

“I already have to compete with him for being goalkeeper in Spain, I don’t want to have to compete with him in the club too.”

“You should try being a defender. I think you can handle the position,” David joked around.

Iker let out a whiny groan. “David, I’m serious.”

“You sound cute when you speak in English, by the way.”

There was quiet pause in Iker’s end. He blushed and proceeded to call David a dumbass in Spanish. The two continued to share niceties, taking their time on the phone to catch up with each other’s lives. David was another sweet memory in Iker’s experience with Real Madrid. It was short-lived but absolutely wonderful. It left Iker heartbroken when David left Madrid for Los Angeles. He didn’t know what would happen with himself had Sergio not entered his life around the time David left. Iker was so sure that he and David were destined for each other. He was so sure that David would retire in Madrid but it seemed the universe had other plans.

“You never answered my question, by the way,” David said in the middle of a lull in their conversation. “Why did you decide to call me?”

Iker bit his lower lip and started to list down some bullshit reasons behind his call. “To hear your voice again? To keep myself company? To make sure you never forgot about me?”

“You know I never would, Iker.”

“I don’t know if I can do this, David,” Iker blurted out, running his hand over the top of his head.

David knew exactly what Iker was referring to. “Iker, obviously I can’t decide for you. I know how important Madrid is to you but you also have to think about what’s best for you and your career.” David sighed and got off the bed to peer through the window. “Listen, Victoria’s back home,” he said to Iker as he watched a car pull into the driveway. “All I can say right now is... Iker, get some rest. Sleep on it. Perhaps your mind can clear up tomorrow and you’ll have that eureka moment in the morning before you go meet Wenger, yeah?”

 “Thank you, David,” Iker said softly into the receiver, letting out a heavy sigh.

“And if it doesn’t work out, you’re probably welcome to step into Old Trafford.”

Iker laughed and sternly commanded to David, “Go to your wife.”

“Yes, dear,” David said sarcastically.

The two bid each other goodbye and ended the call. Iker was left with more questions than answers. However, David was right. He needed some rest so he could clear his mind. Perhaps then he will find the answer. But until then, Iker began to weigh out his options. He made dinner for himself and didn’t bother waiting for Mesut to get back. He lay on the sofa and stared up at the ceiling, attempting to clear away his thoughts so he could get a good night’s rest. So many questions were running through his head. _Will I get first-team priority? Will the gooners love me? Will I retire in England?_

But the biggest question that ate at him the whole night was this: _Am I ready to leave the Bernabeu?_

_Am I really ready to leave my home?_


End file.
